


brother, let me be your shelter

by Miisakee



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfam Week 2018, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miisakee/pseuds/Miisakee
Summary: The Wayne family goes on vacation together, then promptly crash the plane. Everything goes downhill from there.





	brother, let me be your shelter

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for the first prompt in Batfam Week 2018 - vacation or separation. Naturally, as I have no chill, I looked at that and decided to do both. 
> 
> So here we are. I hope you enjoy it.

Tim stares at the snake. The snake stares back.

The rainforest around him seems to fall silent – but that might be the fear talking. He forces himself not to move, as the snake curls around his foot. If he moves, it bites.

He recognises the snake – a Bolivian Lancehead or  _Bothrops sanctaecrucis_ – though he’s not entirely sure what it’s doing in an African rainforest. The snake shifts a little, peering up at him through beady eyes.

Snakes rarely attack humans, he knows that much, but he just stepped on this one, albeit accidentally. It’s scared and ready to strike. For now, its head is trapped and it can’t get through his boots which is the only bit of him in range. But if he moves, it’ll bite.

And he is entirely too far away from anywhere he can get help to risk that.

“Damn it, Bruce,” he mutters. “Why did you have to decide on  _now_  for a family vacation?”

It all started out so well too. Well, sort of. Jason hadn’t murdered anyone yet; he hadn’t even tried to punch the annoying guy in the airport. And Dick had managed to keep Damian in check, for the most part.

Steph even came and they had a nice chat on the plane about the latest series of Star Trek. Tim was actually hopeful that they might be able to rekindle their friendship.

But then the plane crashed. Everyone managed to parachute out of the falling plane, Tim hopes they did anyway. He did and he’s pretty sure Steph and Cass both got out before him at least.

But now they're all separated. And Tim is standing on a venomous snake that shouldn’t even  _be_ in an African rainforest.

He’s pretty sure it’s Africa, anyway. They were headed for Tanzania and he’s certain they made it over the continent before their instruments failed. Not sure exactly  _where_  in Africa, but at least he knows the continent. Hopefully.

But what is the thing  _doing_  here? Snakes don’t typically travel, at least Tim doesn’t think they do. Maybe it’s a globetrotter. A globetrotting snake with all its globetrotting snake buddies.

Oh, he really hopes it doesn’t have any buddies.

And now he’s rambling. Great.

Tim chances another look down at the snake. It hisses a little. Yup. Definitely still mad at him.

He pulls his gaze from the snake and looks desperately around at the trees and vines surrounding him. Come on. His family can’t have all landed  _that_  far from him. Cass and Steph jumped seconds before him, surely they can’t have gotten too far away.

But he can’t count on them managing to find him. His leg is already beginning to ache from staying in the same position for too long. After a while, it’ll start seizing up. And then he’s definitely in trouble.

He sends the snake a venomous look and feels a little cheated that it doesn’t seem to care before he slowly reaches under his t-shirt. His utility belt is slung over one shoulder.

If he can just get at the trap pocket, he can build a make-shift trap to keep the thing away from him. Maybe. Hopefully.

There’s no sound from the rainforest beyond him – besides the typical rainforest noises. He can’t hear anyone at all.

 _I hope they’re all right_ , he thinks, before shaking away that thought. They’re fine. They have to be fine. If they’re not…

Well, he really needs to get away from this snake.

The snake hisses as he shifts his weight a little. He freezes.  _Calm. Calm. No sudden movements_.

Slowly, slowly, he reaches for the pocket. The snake twitches, opening its mouth and showing its long teeth.

Fumbling a little, Tim manages to open the pocket, feeling inside.  _Come on. Come on. There has to be **something.**_

His fingers feel around. Nothing, nothing….there. His fingers grasp something and he slowly pulls it out, only for his heart to sink.

A net.

How astoundingly useless.

Oh yeah, he remembers now. He didn’t refill the pocket after that incident in Bialya with Cassie and Kon.

Well, he's paying for that negligence now.

Muttering a low curse under his breath, Tim grips the net with one hand. It's enough. It’ll have to be enough. If he's careful and quick, he can use it to slow the snake down long enough to get away.

Slowly, he moves his other hand to grab the other side of the net, pulling it open. Then he waits.

The snake shifts. He takes a deep breath and….there!

The net slides over the snake’s head and it jerks back. It hisses angrily, but Tim doesn’t give it time to recover, leaping off and racing away.

Something sinks into his boots, but he shakes it off and carries on running.

Ten minutes later, he comes to a skidding stop and sucks in air, turning to look back the way he’s come. The snake is nowhere to be seen.

Closing his eyes, Tim drops to one knee, letting out a sigh of relief. He runs his fingers over the boot, finding two small holes in the material. That was close.

But he doesn’t get long to take it in.

Crashing comes from the rainforest to his left and Tim leaps to his feet, stumbling backwards. “What the hell?” he mutters.

Something slams into him, sending him to the ground. Bullets whistle overhead. “What the hell?” he cries again.

“Shut up, brat,” Jason grits out.

Of course, it’s Jason. Of course.

Tim opens his mouth to complain, but Jason shushes him again, dragging him to his feet and pulling him with him as Jason starts running again.

“Jason!” Tim manages to get out. “Who’d you piss off now?”

“I don’t know!” Tim hears over the din of running feet. “Animal traffickers, I think. They had animals in cages.”

Bullets fly once more and Tim growls as he ducks. “Well, this isn’t helping anything!” he snaps.

Jason is a little distracted by the imminent threat of death to glare, but the desire to do so is evident in his voice. “Then what do  _you_ suggest?” he calls.

“How many are there?”

“Eleven,” Jason answers as they duck under a low-hanging branch. “But they’ve all got guns. And  _someone_ told me to leave mine at home.”

Someone being Bruce, of course. Tim agreed with the edict at the time, but he’s now starting to regret that.

“Well, we have to do something!” he calls back.

At that exact moment, Tim’s foot catches on something and he slams into the ground, his head smacking against a tree. Beetles swarm away from him. Nausea swirls in his throat.

“Replacement!” Jason’s voice is loud and annoying.

The beetles are still racing away. Why? Is he that scary?

“Tim!” A hand grabs his arm, pulling him up. “Come on!”

Tim blinks his way back to reality, but it’s too late. Their pursuers have surrounded them. Jason curses, shifting so that he’s in front of Tim who’s back is against the tree.

A large man with dark eyes and oily pale skin steps forward, his big lips curling into a smile. “I think this is the end, yes?” he says. His accent is French, Tim notes.

Something wet slips down Tim’s face. He doesn’t need to look at it to know that it's blood.

“Screw you,” Jason spits, as articulate as always.

The Frenchman sniffs. “Well,” he says. “That wasn’t very kind. You’re the one who released our merchandise.”

“’Course I did. Wasn’t about to just  _let_ you take those animals away from their home,” Jason snaps.

The Frenchman grits his teeth. “Well,” he starts, “I’d be more concerned about your friend if I were you,” he says. “He doesn’t look very well.”

It takes a few moments of Jason cursing for Tim to realise the Frenchman was talking about Tim. The strange detachment from reality is difficult to break through. Even though they’re surrounded by people with guns, he isn’t afraid.

His abdomen hurts.

“You’re just going to shoot us, anyway,” Jason snaps. “What does his state matter?”

The Frenchman crosses his arms. “Well,” he says and Tim’s getting very tired of that word. “You lost us a great deal of money with that stunt. It’ll take months to re-collect all we had. So,” he shrugs. “Now you’re going to make up that loss.” He pauses to look them up and down. Tim shudders under his uncomfortable gaze. “A pair of American teenagers in the middle of the Congo rainforest. No doubt you have money behind you.”

Jason barks out a laugh. “You won’t get much,” he says icily. “We’re not anyone. We crashed on our way to Kenya for a mission trip.”

Tim’s confused at first. They were headed to Tanzania for a vacation, not Kenya. Then he realises that Jason is lying.

The Frenchman raises an eyebrow. “That might well be,” he says shortly. “But I’ll take the chance. Men, take them.”

The men around them move. Tim sees Jason tense up before he slams a punch into the nearest man’s face. The man stumbles backwards, blood seeping from his nose. Jason kicks out again, taking another gunman down.

Something grabs Tim by the arm and he struggles instinctively, but it’s no good. The dizziness prevents him from getting a good hold on his attacker and soon an arm is clamped around his throat. Cold metal is against his head.

“Hey, you kid,” this man’s American. Jason is still fighting, but he slows at the words. “If you don’t want this brat to get a hole through his head, quit it.”

Jason freezes, staring at Tim.

Guilt throbs in Tim’s chest. He should be able to fight off assholes like this. His throbbing head shouldn’t be enough to cause this.

But whether it should or shouldn’t, Jason stops anyway. He holds up his hands, maintaining dangerous eye-contact with the man holding Tim. “Fine. Fine. Let him go.”

Two men step up and take hold of his arms, one each. Jason’s lip curls, but he doesn’t fight back. Instead, he just lets them march him away.

The world around Tim moves and then goes black.

 

***

Jason struggles against the ropes around his wrists, before gritting his teeth and letting his body relax. Useless.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees them tying Tim up. He’s out cold. What the hell did they do to him to make that happen?

When he voices this question, he just receives a slap to the face.

Jason presses himself up against the bars off the cage he’s been tossed in. The clearing they’re in is filled with empty cages and apparently, the morons who’ve kidnapped them decided not to waste a good cage.

Tim is pushed inside and the door slammed shut behind him. A click tells Jason that it’s locked.

He ignores the poacher outside in favour of trying to assess Tim’s state. He looks awful - his skin is sweaty and almost grey.

Jason sighs, before poking the kid with his foot. “Replacement,” he says. Tim makes no sound. Jason swears under his breath, before poking Tim again. “Tim,” he hisses. “Come on, wake up.”

At first, it has no effect. The kid doesn’t even shift. But then, bit by bit, he starts to wake up. As he returns to awareness, he moans, curling over his abdomen.

Jason moves to the side so that he can just about poke him with his hand. “Tim! You with me?”

Tim groans as he blearily opens his eyes. “Mmmm?? Ye….’m here.”

Jason frowns. “What did they do to you?” he asks, already plotting their demise. For a lot of things, not for whatever they did to Tim. Well, mostly not for that. “Replacement?”

Tim grimaces. “N’thin’…just passed out. S’rry.”

“Sheesh,” Jason mutters. “How hard did you hit your head?”

Tim doesn’t answer and Jason just groans, hitting his head against the bars a little. Great. Just great. This is the last time he ever goes on a vacation with the Family. They’re a bunch of bad-luck charms.

He sends a brief glance out at the traffickers now talking in the centre of the clearing, near to the only tent here – a big one though, beige. By how often they gesture towards Jason and Tim, they’re discussing what to do with them.

His decision to lie about their identities might’ve been a bit daft, they’re more likely to keep them alive if they have the chance to get a ransom from a billionaire than if they think they’ve just caught a pair of especially conscientious teenagers. But it’s too late now. Besides, he’s supposed to be dead. The French guy might not know enough about the Wayne family to know that, but the American probably does. And they’d be able to find that out from a Google search anyway.

They just need time. He can work out a plan.

But, he can’t help but think as he sends a look towards Tim who’s growing paler every second, they might not have time, for more reason than one.

One of the traffickers starts over towards them and Jason shifts in place. The razor-blades he sewed into his t-shirt are still there, he can just about feel them through the material. Surrounded by leather, of course, but if he can just…

The poacher arrives – this one’s a woman, with light brown skin and dangerous dark eyes. “What’s wrong with him?” she asks, gesturing to Tim. Her accent is thick, vaguely Arabic but with a hint of Italy in it.

“I don’t know,” Jason grits out.

The woman glares at him. “Is he in danger of dying?”

The words are like a cold shower. He jerks upwards. “Of course not,” he spits, wishing desperately that he was free so he could punch her for even suggesting that.

She doesn’t look impressed, but instead of asking any more questions, she turns and walks back to the others. Once she’s gone, Jason breathes a sigh of relief and turns his attention back to Tim.

Tim is even more doubled over now, trying his best to curl into a small ball. If his hands weren’t tied behind his back, he’d probably be hugging himself right now. Abdomen pain. Definitely.

The Frenchman separates from his group and strides over to them. “What are your names?” he asks, coldly. 

Jason knows what he should do – come up with a realistic fake name, ideally one of the ones that’ll ping Barbara’s computer so she knows something is wrong. That’s what he should do.

But he’s tired and annoyed and in pain, so he just smirks. “My name’s Suckitup McGrathy. This is my brother, Kissmyass. We have lovely parents.”

The Frenchman scowls, before kicking out. His foot smashes into Jason’s hands with a crack. Pain radiates from his fingers, at least one is broken.

Eh. Worth it.

“I want a name,” the Frenchman spits. “And I want it now.”

Jason contemplates aggravating him further before he catches sight of Tim who’s looking at him with annoyance. “Caleb Malone,” he says finally. “That’s Robbie Malone.”

The Frenchman tilts his head before he shakes it slowly. “You’re still lying,” he says, before he nods to one of the others. “Search the younger one. Find ID.”

Well, that’s done it.

Two men come over and drag Tim out. Jason tries to fight back, to keep his brother with him, but another man comes and holds him to the bars.

Once Tim’s out, they search him, making no attempt to be remotely gentle. Tim whimpers a little as they move him and that sound alone sends genuine fear through Jason. Tim doesn’t whimper. Tim’s just like the rest of them, too stubborn for his own good and with an absurdly high pain tolerance. 

“Oi!” he snaps. “Leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s in pain?”

The Frenchman sends him an unsympathetic look. “You should’ve just told me the truth.”

“Screw you,” Jason spits out.

The guy just ignores him which is rude. After what seems like an age, they pull Tim’s wallet out of his pocket. One woman opens it and looks at Tim’s driving licence.

“Oh,” she breathes. “I…I don’t believe it.” American, something sinks inside Jason's stomach at the realisation. “This boy is Timothy Drake-Wayne. Adopted son of one of the most wealthy men in the world and heir to two companies. Romero,” she looks up at the Frenchman. “We’ve hit the jackpot.”

The Frenchman – Romero, apparently – turns, his eyes scanning Jason up and down. “If this boy is a billionaire’s son,” he says slowly. “Then what does that make you?”

“Wayne has three sons,” says the American woman. “He can’t be the youngest. Richard Grayson, perhaps?”

Jason really shouldn’t be as amused as he is by being mistaken for his older brother – years of trying to fill Goldie’s shoes and now he just gets  _mistaken_  for the idiot? But if he lets it happen, lets them believe he’s Dick, it might just keep him alive longer. And, more importantly, it might keep him with Tim.

“Give my brother back,” he spits at them.

“I would assume so,” says Romero in answer to the woman’s question – apparently Jason doesn’t exist right now. “Put the boy back. I’ll talk to Base. See about contacting Bruce Wayne.”

Tim is dumped back in the cage and the traffickers stroll off. Jason shifts over, trying to see if Tim’s alright. He looks even worse, Jason notes with no small amount of worry. Clearly, he’s deteriorating by the minute.

Pressing his back against the bars, Jason tries to reach for the razor-blade nearest to his hands. But, just as he manages to grip it and tear it out of his t-shirt, a number of things happen in very quick succession.

First, Romero notices what he’s doing and stalks towards him with a thunderous face. Second, a friendly neighbourhood Dick drops out of the sky and punches Romero in the face.

Said Dick proceeds to decimate the camp with little to no puns – which is intensely worrying considering, well, Dick. His blue eyes are icy and utterly devoid of any humour. There are no dramatic back-flips, no grins, no taunts. Just pure ruthless efficiency.

Once everyone is out, Dick is in front of the cage in the time it takes Jason to blink. “Are you both alright?” he asks, picking the lock.

“I’m fine,” Jason says. “But the kid isn’t.”

Dick sends him a look that says  _You’re lying and I know it_ , but rather than pushing it, he leans forward. “Timmy?” he says gently. “Can you hear me?”

Tim’s eyes open. “Dick?” he manages.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Dick smiles as he cuts through the ropes around Tim’s wrists and squeezes his hand. “It’s me. How’re you feeling?”

Tim responds by jolting up and out of the cage, proceeding to throw up on the ground. Dick jumps back to avoid it. Once he’s done, Tim just curls in on himself.

“What’s wrong, little wing?” Dick sinks to his knees next to him, rubbing his back. “Do you know what happened?” he directs this question to Jason.

Jason grimaces as he finally cuts through his own bonds. “He fell as we were running from this lot,” he nods to the unconscious traffickers. “Hit his head on a tree. See the blood?”

Dick reaches up and gently probes the head injury, frowning. “I see it.”

But Jason pauses, frowning. Head injuries can cause a lot of problems, he knows, and it would certainly explain the bleariness, the vomiting and the lack of focus. But it wouldn’t explain the abdominal pain.

When Jason mentions this, Dick’s frown deepens. “You’re right,” he says, sinking back on his haunches. “I don’t think a head injury would cause that. Hey, Timmy, just let me check you for a concussion,” he tilts Tim’s head back so that he can check his eyes. “Yeah, you definitely have one, but it shouldn’t cause abdominal pain.”

Jason crosses his arms, leaning against the cage. “Then he’s gotta be sick with something else, right?”

Dick sighs. “I suppose,” he stops to think, before he drains of colour. “He hasn’t had appendicitis before. Could that-?”

“No.” Jason snaps out. “There’s no way. We’re unlucky, but we’re not  _that_ unlucky, surely.”

Dick shoves himself to his feet. “It could be,” he snaps back. “You know that’s exactly the sort of thing that’d happen to us.”

“Shut up!” Jason runs his hand through his hair.

“Jay,” Dick grimaces and runs a hand over his eyes. For the first time, Jason notices that Dick doesn’t exactly look like the picture of health. His normally brown skin has an unhealthy sheen to it and his clothes are torn and bloody, barely revealing injuries underneath. “Were you with him ever since landing?”

Jason blinks. “I…no,” he admits slowly. “I wasn’t there at first. We only met after I got chased by them,” he thumbs towards the traffickers. “I…I was the one who annoyed them. I ran into him and we ended up caught. He probably had about half an hour alone.”

Dick swears under his breath. “That gives him half an hour to get himself into trouble. Half an hour where we have no idea what happened.”

He drops down into a crouch next to him. “Hey, kiddo,” he says, gently gripping Tim’s shoulder. “You still with us?”

“Mmmm,” Tim slurs out. “Still…here.”

“Any idea what could’ve caused this?” Dick asks. “Did you touch anything? Or get bitten?”

“Was…snake…” Tim gets out, blinking up at them. “But….wasn’t bitten. Boots…protect…”

There’s a moment where Jason and Dick meet each other’s eyes, both with dawning comprehension in their faces before, as one, they go for Tim’s boots. Jason brushes his fingers over the left boot, looking for holes.

There. Two small holes.

“Here!” he says. Dick comes to his side and together, they gently remove the boot along with Tim’s sock.

And there, sure enough, is a bite.

“The boots didn’t stop it,” Dick says, dropping back.

“How did he not notice?” Jason asks, staring at the holes in his brother’s leg. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing you miss!”

“Adrenaline,” Dick says, shaking his head. “He was trying to get away from it, the adrenaline would’ve dulled the pain.” He closes his eyes. “How long do you think he’s had it for.”

Jason grimaces. “Well, we were in the cage for about an hour and it took us another half an hour to get back here. Add another five minutes onto that and that’s all the time I can account for.”

Dick grimaces. “That’s more than long enough to be very serious,” he says. He shifts over back to Tim’s head and leans forward. “Timmy, do you know what sort of snake it was? I might have anti-venom.”

“You brought anti-venom?” Jason blinks.

“You didn’t?”

Jason rolls his eyes as Tim shifts, waking up again. Dick turns away from Jason and repeats the question. Tim nods a little.

“Was…Bolivian…Lancehead.”

Jason jolts. “What the hell?”

Dick has a similar reaction. “Timmy, a Lancehead? You’re sure?”

Tim nods.

“Great,” Dick mutters. “I don’t have anti-venom for that.”

“I thought you were Mr Prepared, Goldie,” Jason says, a little more angrily than he meant to.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Dick snaps back. “We were headed for  _Tanzania_! I brought anti-venom for snakes found in  _Tanzania_ , not Bolivia! I didn’t exactly think a snake would turn up in the wrong continent, did I?”

“Well, you should’ve!” It’s entirely irrational, but Jason’s tired and stressed and, by this point, absolutely terrified and Dick’s always been easy to yell at. After he says it, he immediately regrets it, as Dick’s face just drops. “I didn’t mean that.”

Dick shakes his head, his eyes dark and sad. “I get it, Jay. It’s fine.” His eyes drop to stare at Tim’s face.

It isn’t fine, but Jason doesn’t have time to debate it. “What the hell was a South American snake doing in Africa anyway?” he says, before he pauses. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Dick looks up at him.

“It was them,” he nods to the traffickers. “They must’ve brought it with them and it escaped. Morons!”

Dick sends the unconscious people a venomous look and Jason’s almost glad they’re out cold. Dick looks ready to murder them.

After that, they subside. Both of them just stare at Tim, but then Dick stirs himself. “Do you have a communicator with you?”

Jason shakes his head. “My family one broke yesterday. And I don’t have any others. You?”

Dick curses again. “Mine were in my bag. I lost it in the crash. The family one, Titans, even my League communicator. All gone,” he looks around the camp. “There must be a radio here of some sort, right? These guys have to keep in contact with the outside world.”

Jason thinks back to the hour spent surrounded by traffickers. Then he remembers. “The leader,” he nods to Romero, who’s still out cold, “He said something about talking to Base. There must be something.”

“Find it,” Dick orders, worry making him short and snappy. “Oh, and after you find it, tie them all up. The last thing we need is them waking up and attacking. There’s too many of them. You don’t have your weapons and neither do I. I only won because I had the element of surprise.”

Jason sees the wisdom in that and stands. “Sure. But don’t give me orders.”

Dick rolls his eyes, before turning back to Tim.

Jason leaves him checking Tim over and heads to the beige tent. That’s the most likely spot for anything like a radio, right? No chance of it getting wet. He pushes open the flap and strides inside, frowning around.

Nothing – just piles of bags and boxes, all surrounding a foldable table in the centre. Jason strides forward, starting to move bags around, looking closely.

“Come on,” he mutters. “There’s got to be something.”

After what seems like an age, he opens a box to see a satellite phone. Relief makes him almost shake as he snatches it up. Turning it on, he checks the charge. Half-full, not too bad. Enough, at least.

He stands up.

And the sound of voices comes from outside.

Jason spins, holding the satellite phone in one hand. The assholes are awake. He curses, before stowing the phone away in his pocket and scanning his surroundings.

A few guns lie near the entrance. Probably spares. Works for him.

He snatches one up and flips it around. There. Now let them try to beat him.

He opens the flap to see his brothers surrounded. Dick is standing in front of Tim, glaring at the traffickers. When Jason gives him the opportunity, he’ll be ready.

Jason aims at Romero and fires.

The bullet pierces Romero’s leg and he falls flat on the floor. Dick takes full advantage of the initial confusion, launching himself at the nearest man.

Jason stalks out, aiming and firing, aiming and firing. Every bullet found a target. Jason has been too long without his guns. This feels good.

As quickly as the clearing had burst into activity, it quietened. And this time, they wouldn’t be waking anytime soon.

“We’ll need to call in rescue services,” Dick says as he strides back to Tim’s side. “We can’t just leave them here when we leave. Did you find a communicator?”

Jason can’t claim to being entirely opposed to leaving these assholes right here, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he just pulls out the satellite phone and holds it up. “Right here.”

For the first time, Dick’s eyes light up and a brilliant smile spreads across his face. “Finally,” he says. “Some good news.”

Jason tosses it to Dick – he has contacts with the League and the Titans, neither of which will be enthused to getting a phone-call from Jason. Dick taps something into the phone, before raising it to his ear.

Jason comes nearer in time to hear the distinctive tones of Wally West. Of course. A few minutes later, the speedster himself races into the clearing. Dick leaps up and Wally takes a moment to hug him so tightly that Jason is almost worried about lack of air. Worry creases the redhead's forehead and Jason wonders how much everyone outside knew of the crash. From that, probably just that it’d happened.

Wally takes in the situation with a quick look, before he carefully picks up Tim. “I’ll run him to the hospital in Gotham. It won’t be much slower and there won’t be an issue with emigration that way. Bolivian Lancehead, right?”

Dick nods. “And a concussion.”

“Gimme a sec,” and Wally’s gone.

Dick sighs and drops to the ground. Jason sits down next to him, wincing a little as the pain from his broken finger finally made itself known. Dick wasn’t kidding, adrenaline is a great painkiller.

Of course, Dick notices and immediately goes into Mother-Hen mode, checking his hand over and fretting. But he smiles as he does it and Jason just lets him. Dick needs this. And, hell, Jason needs this too.

Ten minutes later and Wally skids back into the clearing. “I talked to Clark,” he says, sitting down next to Dick who promptly leans into him. “He’s called the rescue services for them,” he nods towards the unconscious group around them. “Oh, and he’s heading over himself to help out with finding the others. Him, J’onn, Diana and Hal are all their way.”

Dick snickers. “Bruce won’t be happy with that. He hates Hal.”

“He doesn’t  _hate_  him,” Wally says. “He just…strongly dislikes him.”

Dick shakes his head, but relaxes into Wally and Wally holds him tightly.

Once the other League members arrive, it’s all over. The rest of the family is found. Bruce and Damian are found together, arguing, obviously. Damian promptly attaches himself to Dick’s side and refuses to leave. Bruce pretends to not be worried, but still blatantly checks for injuries.

Steph and Cass are also together, perfectly calm and eating granola bars that Cass stole from the plane during the flight. Cass gives Dick a tight hug when she sees him and Jason hangs behind.

Cass lets Dick go and marches up to Jason, before throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. He’s never had such an aggressive hug in his life.

When everyone’s been found, Diana uses her jet to fly them all back to America, where she drops them off at Gotham Central where Tim is. All of them get checked out and all end up in Tim’s room once they’re allowed in.

Jason sits on the window-sill and watches them all finding increasingly odd ways to rest in the room. Dick’s sitting on the bedside table. Cass has found her way to the top of the door.

“Just so you all know,” Jason says once they’re all settled. “If any of you ask me to come on a family vacation again, I’m going to punch you.”


End file.
